


Purity of Purpose

by eye_of_a_cat



Category: Babylon 5
Genre: Adultery, Alien Cultural Differences, Alien Culture, Alien Rituals, F/M, Minbari, Multi, Polygamy, Post-Canon, dealing with certain Crusade rumours
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-29
Updated: 2018-05-28
Packaged: 2019-05-15 02:03:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14781518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eye_of_a_cat/pseuds/eye_of_a_cat
Summary: Post-series. Lennier looks for redemption, Delenn comes to term with missing out some rituals.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on LiveJournal in 2004.

David Sheridan didn’t notice there was anyone watching him. Probably he’d have paid no attention whether he’d noticed or not, when there were always people watching him, even home on Minbar. Sometimes they even stared at him, on human worlds like this (Minbari watched him in half-glances and bows, and aliens mostly didn’t watch him at all). His mother would curl a hand around his shoulder and say nothing, and they would go. But even then, people watching him wasn’t much, so he didn’t notice these ones.  
  
Crowds weren’t much, either. There were always crowds. And crowds were noisy anyway, so he didn’t even hear the sound of all those voices when it happened.  
  
The first thing he noticed, in fact, was the smoke.  
  
Afterwards he’d think of a hundred possibilities about that smoke, about whether he should have looked for a fire or an explosion behind it. Afterwards he’d wake up in the night, a new idea thumping in the heartbeat through his veins - _what if it had been poisonous? what if?_ But at the time, his only thought was _oh_ , a breathless half-syllable into the smoke that curled blank whiteness around him. His parents, somewhere ahead of him, were invisible. The crowds were invisible. The _world_ was invisible, and he didn’t start noticing anything in it until the shouts and panic of the crowd got louder and a hand grabbing his shoulder told him that people had been watching him the whole time.  
  
The smoke had begun to sting his eyes then, and he couldn’t see much through the blur of the tears that welled up in response, or his hands rubbing them away. He assumed the person who half-pushed, half-carried him back through the crowds (people everywhere, pushing and jostling and shouting at each other, sharp elbows and feet standing on his) was a Ranger, and the voice which told him ‘This way, quickly’ in Adronato gave him no reason to doubt it. It wasn’t until they were away from the people, crouched down in the corner of the two walls, that he looked for a Ranger badge and didn’t see one.  
  
“You must stay here.” His companion spoke quietly and fast. “It is – there are bad people, and you must stay here until it is safe.”  
  
“Are you a Ranger?” The crowd’s noise wasn’t so bad here, and he twisted around to listen, half-sure he could hear his parents calling for him.  
  
“I, I was. A long time ago.”  
  
David rubbed at his eyes again, although the air was clearer here and the smoke over the crowd was starting to drift away. “I want my parents.”  
  
“I know.” The half-smile was gone before it could be reassuring. “The Rangers will take you, soon.”  
  
_You take me, please,_ he wanted to say, small and afraid and hating the damp smother of the smoke, but the Minbari was no longer looking at him. David followed his gaze to two robed figures, and chewed at his lip when his companion’s shout brought them running. It was safe if Rangers were here. He climbed to his feet to see them better, but the Minbari was gripping his arms just above the elbows, holding him in place. “David,” he said (and the use of his name he didn’t notice until afterwards, because everyone knew his name). “Tell your mother that – I –” And then he bowed his head as though the smoke was too heavy to breathe. “Nothing,” he said.  
  
Then the Rangers were there, asking if he was hurt, carrying him back to his parents, and when he looked back the Minbari was gone.  
  


~*~

  
  
Delenn was no longer pacing, or praying, or staring into nothing with her hands a pale knot of grief in front of her. Now she spoke clearly and sure, her words directed only at her husband. “It _was_ him,” she said, and David folded the corner of his page over and put down the book he hadn’t been reading anyway. “You know this just as I do.”  
  
John Sheridan sighed and shook his head. “We _don’t_ know that.” His voice was tired more than calm. “David couldn’t recognise anyone well enough in all that smoke, and we can’t keep showing him pictures until he pretends he can. Hell, for all we know, that _was_ one of the kidnappers and they were after us the whole time.”  
  
“ _No._ ” She said the word in a way which did not invite questions. “You know what the Rangers said yesterday. How can you think these people would work with Minbari?”  
  
“Okay. Okay, maybe not one of the kidnappers.”  
  
“But not Lennier, either.”  
  
He robbed the back of his hand over his forehead, and David could see his jaw muscles tense. “I didn’t say that. I just don’t think we should jump to any conclusions based on –”  
  
“Based on everything our son has told us and the Rangers have confirmed. To believe that a stranger would both resemble him and act in a way only he would have cause to – is this a more reasonable conclusion to jump to?”  
  
David curled up further in the chair he always thought of as the Earth chair, the one his father’s clan sent as a gift, and rested his chin on folded hands to see better.  
  
“All the evidence we have,” Sheridan said with the careful enunciation of something repeated many times, “says Lennier died three years ago. Every witness, every vid, every inch of that prison we went over. Nobody else survived the explosion.”  
  
“Very well, then, we will assume he is dead.” She raised a hand at the first sounds of his objection. “Therefore, someone we do not know saved our son and returned him to us unhurt, but refused to see us for no given reason despite wanting to tell me something he could not say to David. And you do not wish to know who this person is?”  
  
“It’s _not_ that. Jesus.” He rubbed at his forehead again. “Okay, fine, you win. Whoever it was, we’ll find them.”  
  
Her head bowed, not too low to hide a smile. “Thank you.”  
  
“I just don’t think you should convince yourself it’s Lennier.”  
  
For a moment she paused, her hand halfway to his, and then sank into the chair beside him. “I would not ask him to return.”  
  
“I meant so you wouldn’t be disappointed if it wasn’t.”  
  
“Who is it?” David asked, kicking a foot impatiently until its circulation returned.  
  
A moment hung in the air as though it had physical presence, and then was gone. Sheridan grinned, and Delenn tried without much success to look stern as she asked what he was doing there.  
  
“Reading.” He pointed to the book carefully placed on the floor beside him.  
  
“You should have been in bed long ago.” She lifted him to his feet before he could protest. “Is it my turn to read your story tonight?”  
  
“Yes.” But he was yawning as he said it. She picked him up, still not too heavy to carry, and said “Say goodnight to your father.”  
  


~*~

  
  
In the night, Delenn remembered watching her husband sleep. The memory was clearer than it had ever been now; she could recall each line on his face, each movement, each secret. In the past he awoke to fight the Shadows and greet his dead wife, and she left to face the judgement of her own people, but in this memory he was always asleep and she could watch him forever.  
  
So much had passed. There was grey in his hair now, and his true face was turned away from her. She waited until the silence was too much to bear before placing a hand on his arm, cold where the blanket had fallen away, and saying his name.  
  
He jerked awake, letting his head fall back onto the pillow once he registered she was there. “Yeah.”  
  
“I am – concerned. About David.”  
  
The weight of sleep still pulled at him, blurring his words into mumbles. “What’s he said?”  
  
“Nothing, and this is what concerns me.” When he turned to face her, she could lie pressed against the warmth of his body, feeling his breath in his chest. “He must know how much danger he was in, and yet he will not talk of it, and if he _did_ \- what could I say to him?”  
  
“What we’ve always said.” She could feel his voice as much as hear it. “That some people might want to hurt him, but we’ll make sure they can’t.”  
  
“He should not have to pay for my decisions.”  
  
“He doesn’t.” His hand rested on the base of her neck, his fingers splayed through her hair, soothing.  
  
There was silence, for a moment. She broke it. “I cannot sleep. I will go and meditate for a time.”  
  
In response, he only lifted his hand away.  
  


~*~

  
  
Meditation brought nothing she wished to see. She pinched out the candle-flame between her fingers (too slowly, and it burnt), and stared out into the darkness instead, challenging it to show her something, anything, else. But the memory played in her mind like a lullaby she knew by heart, and this time she did not try to avoid it.  
  
_He would not look up. All these years apart, all the time together, and now he was her terrified young aide once again. “Look at me,” she commanded, and tried her best to ignore the realisation that she could no longer read his thoughts in his eyes when he obeyed._  
  
She had seen already that he was older, in the tired new lines on his face, but it was so sudden and present now that she almost wanted him to leave her again. She had imagined a thousand futures for him in the last three years, images of devotion and repentance fragmenting into each other in a chaos of possibility, but in none of them had he changed. “You have been away too long,” she said.  
  
His half-smile was there and gone in an instant, and he did not speak.  
  
“Have you brought me only silence after all these years, Lennier of the Third Fane of Chu’Domo?”  
  
This time he answered her, his eyes dropping to the floor tiles once again. “Anything else would be – inadequate,” he said softly, and for a moment he had never been gone.  
  
His face beneath her palms was warm as the breath on her skin. “No,” she said. “I have missed you so much, my friend.”  
  
He did not try to break her gaze this time. “A friend who tried to kill your husband,” he said. “You should not have missed me.”  
  
“You would not have let him die. It was only one moment, and I know this – I know this even if you do not – and John understands, and it does not  matter, Lennier, not any more.”  
  
“Then you should not have found me.”  
  
Her fingertips traced over his face, absently noting each new line and scar (superficial, meaningless, only a shell), and still he was Lennier. The velvet-soft skin beneath the lower edge of his headbone felt the same. She did not notice when she began to knead it with her knuckles in the way he once liked, not until his breath shuddered and he froze in her arms, and then she did not much care. “You are here. I have been without you so long – and my son, you have never even seen David – but at last you are here.”  
  
He was beginning to relax, his muscles fluid under her touch and her head pressed back against his hand, but his voice was still rough. “I have no right to be any part of your life now.”  
  
“Do not say that. Never say that. I am not myself with you gone.”  
  
“I have not found –”  
  
“How can you find forgiveness alone? How can you find anything? Your place is here, as it has always been. It is here.” So close, she could not see his face.  
  
He did not reply. They stood together in silence for a minute that was forever, until she asked “You will stay?”  
  
“Yes,” he said, and nothing else mattered.  
  
But he had not. He had never seen David, and she had barely had the chance to tell John he was back – words cut too short, a promise to discuss it later. The Rangers brought word that Lyta Alexander was being moved to a Psi Corps prison on Earth, not far away from them, and Lennier could be there without being recognised. It was only supposed to take a day.  
  
_Something went wrong_ , they said afterwards. And _We don’t know what happened, there was an explosion, we’re still not sure._ And _We’re sorry._ And John trying to hold her, as she fell to her knees and screamed.  
  
There were times she did not believe he was dead. He was _hers_ , and he had no right to be gone; his life was hers, and she had never given up her right to it. There were other times when she knew beyond doubt he was, and could think of nothing but her own failure, of everything he should have been lost and gone. It was cruel that the universe would punish him so, and perhaps she deserved cruelty, but he never had. When John brought her food - _here, look, I made you flarn, it doesn’t look great but won’t you just taste it to see if I got the salt right?_ \- she told him.  
  
He did not understand. Rituals and their absence meant nothing to him, an inconvenience rather than the structure and foundation she should never have denied Lennier. But he understood betrayal, which this also was; he understood lies; he did not know what she had done to Lennier, but he knew what she had done to him, and he buried his face in his hands and said he didn’t know what to say.  
  
Daylight was beginning to glow through the half-opaque windows.  
  
She tried not to wake him when she went back to bed, but his eyes were already open. When she reached out her hand, he took it without speaking.  
  


~*~

  
  
The bar reminded him, as everything had a tendency to do, of Babylon 5. A crowd of aliens avoided each other’s eyes, settled into their own patterns of drinking and repeating the same conversations over and over again. The barman swabbed ineffectually at an ingrained layer of dirt on the bar, and metal embossed above the dusty glass bottles was thick and dull with grime. He was not surprised to find this place more crowded than it had been four days ago, now that the transport blocks imposed after the attempted kidnap of David Sheridan had been lifted. In truth, he was glad for a crowd that would not look too closely at one more hooded figure.  
  
Perhaps they were looking for him, now. Perhaps she was looking for him. Her son must have told her enough to guess, even without any message - he was so sure he would have known what to say to her, but the words had died on his tongue, leaving him fumbling between cliches and silence. And if she did not know, she would no doubt guess soon, and he could not stay. Besides, several of the bar’s more permanent patrons were beginning to look at him a little too closely, and he did not even want to be recognised as Minbari in a place like this. He put down the glass he had been holding for the sake of appearances, and was almost at the door before a hand grabbed his wrist.  
  
He looked down into a human face, into something that was not quite surprise and not quite hate.  
  
“You don’t get to run away again,” John Sheridan said.


	2. Chapter 2

_Perhaps he had forgotten. It seemed unlikely that he would, but he was younger then, and forgetting was easier; perhaps he had allowed his determination to falter earlier than he knew, and lost her prophecies with it. It was a possibility, at least._  
  
At the time, he was being her aide. This was not long after he had sworn himself to her, in the short time when he still believed he could keep his roles in her life neatly apart, before he understood that the rituals to draw those lines would not come. Maybe it was before she knew it, too.  
  
He did not think this at the time.  
  
She returned his bow of greeting, and turned back to the data crystals she was stacking neatly away. "It is Sheridan," she said. Her back was towards him, and her tone was not remarkable, and he was about to ask "What is?" - and then he realised, and fumbled his awkwardness into another bow, keeping his head lowered as she turned around.  
  
Her hand touched his arm. "You will support me in this, of course?"  
  
"Yes," he whispered, all other words -  you can’t do this, you are mistaken, it would never mean Starkiller, not for you \- smothered under obedience.  
  
"He knows only a little of our customs," she said, "and I will need time to explain to him. But it would mean a great deal to me now if you welcomed him as third." Joy was no more dignified a reaction than fury, and harder to choke down, but she smiled to see it and lifted his chin with her fingertips. "If I tell him nine days - you will be ready?"  
  
"I, I will." Time enough for doubt in its proper place, in the meditations and silence that came before preparing the meal. Time enough for reservations and jealousy and anger in the appropriate moments when he would need to state them, with only his own ears to hear, between blessing the spices.  
  
"You are a good companion, Lennier." She brought his hand to her chest, covering it with her own instead of returning the gesture.  
  
I am yours, he thought, but did not need to say. And in the time after, when it became clear that the ritual was for Sheridan’s place in her life and not his, when he knew - knew before the Markabs died, knew even before the meal was finished - that Sheridan did not and would not understand, it did not matter. Hers.  
  


~*~

  
  
The wind carried a fine mist of rain around them, soaking ice-cold into his skin. He forced himself not to duck his head and tried to make out Sheridan’s features in the failing light of "somewhere we won’t be overheard", although it was unnecessary; his voice told enough. "You’re meant to be dead."  
  
A year of Ranger training had him reaching before he could realise it for the pike he still carried.  
  
"That wasn’t a threat." Impatient. It would be safe to assume anger, as well, although he had never been good at telling such things from aliens. "I’ve dealt with a couple too many people who were meant to be dead, and I didn’t want to see another one. You’d better have a more convincing explanation than they did."  
  
"I have..." Nothing. A pitiful collection of excuses and apologies that weren’t, a hundred never-sent messages of ashamed explanation decorated with out-of-place blessings for their son. "I thought it would be better this way." The whisper of the rain called him a liar.  
  
"Do you have any _idea_ what you’ve put her through?"  
  
"Yes." Hardly loud enough to hear the word himself, although Sheridan seemed to. "But I did not want to fail her again. If I stayed, I..."  
  
"Oh, how very like you." There was an angry bark in his voice, and everything Lennier had learnt about humans during a childhood coloured by war - _they are animals, they understand nothing, they are barely a generation away from killing each other for food_ \- rose up obediently to be stamped down and pushed away. But it was easier to wrestle with this than listen to Sheridan, and he refused to allow himself the comfort of such familiarity. "Pretend none of it’s your choice," Sheridan was saying. "Pretend you’re the good guy. Right?"  
  
No. "It is -"  
  
"I’m not Minbari, remember? This self-sacrifice stuff won’t work on me."  
  
"You do not understand." He had thought the words often; they did not sound the same aloud.  
  
"Yeah. She said that. And _you_ don’t understand what it’s like to see your wife crying on your son’s first birthday because her friend isn’t there to help out with, with - whatever the ritual’s called."  
  
" _Nafen’cha_ , for –"  
  
"I don’t _care._ " Sheridan’s voice was cooler, and Lennier did not look up. "You didn’t stay away for her sake, you didn’t do it for David, and there is no way in hell you did it for me."  
  
He watched raindrops dance on puddles beneath their feet. "I… know this now." And then quickly, cutting off Sheridan’s answer, "But actions may be correct even if the reasons we give for them are wrong."  
  
Sheridan’s voice was careful, caught off-guard. "That’s less like you."  
  
He settled for a silence between agreement and dispute, and a glance invisible under the driving rain.  
  
"So why come back now? If you’ve given up pretending about your reasons, you owe me the truth."  
  
Shame bowed his head lower. "To see her again," he said, "even if she would not see me. And to give you the apology I have owed you all these years."  
  
"You’ve had enough time to apologise. Why now?"  
  
"Before, I was not sorry." He had been in space too long; he was unaccustomed to rain and wind and cold, shivering in half-darkness. "I was ashamed and horrified by my actions, but only because I had failed her in wishing you harm. My apologies would have been worthless."  
  
"You were coming back to watch me die."  
  
" _No._ " He felt, rather than saw, Sheridan taken aback at the conviction in his voice. "I came back to save you. I knew what a terrible thing I had done, and I could never have killed you. But it has taken me many years to truly regret trying."  
  
"And you’re sorry now."  
  
He nodded, slowly. "I have no right to ask you for forgiveness, and you have no reason to give it. Your actions during the war were never a justification for hating you; you were protecting your world, as those on the _Black Star_ were protecting theirs. You love Delenn as she loves you, and it is right you should be with her, even regardless of prophecies." He breathed a heavy gulp of air. "Trying to kill you was the most terrible thing I have ever done. I am sorry."  
  
Sheridan watched him, in silence, for some time. The rain grew heavier. Buildings around them were only black outlines against the ink-blue sky now, and the voices of people on their way home from work, holding coats above their heads and beginning to run, became more and more distant. Eventually, he said "Six years ago, I’d have hit you."  
  
If Lennier had been expecting the weight of a long-carried burden to fall from his shoulders, this moment would have passed without thought in expectation of what was to come. As it was, he noticed the smallest change, nothing more than a fraction of a thought. Enough room to breathe. "And now?"  
  
"Now, I know that wasn’t the worst thing you did. At least it was _honest_." The rough, angry edge had returned to his voice, and Lennier had to resist the impulse to bow even lower. "At least it made sense."  
  
_What else have I done to you?_ , he wanted to say, organising his defences behind a shield of Minbari insularity and the youth he had left behind long ago. _I do not understand._ But he did.  
  
"You Minbari," Sheridan was saying. "You _have_ to make things complicated, you _have_ to make them fit the way you think they are already. You’d rather tell yourselves it’s all my fault for pretending she’s not Minbari, so you can sneak around behind my back and hope I don’t notice."  
  
He knew not to back away. "I have been incorrect in many things," he said quietly, hoping Sheridan wouldn’t hear.  
  
"Incorrect? I never _wanted_ her to be human, you naïve, arrogant, selfish little idiot. I love _her_ , not some idea of who she is. And I know there’s things she’s not ever going to tell me, and there’s stuff I couldn’t understand anyway, and she needs you. I know that, okay? Hell, if I hadn’t been convinced you were dead, I’d have dragged you back myself just for her." And then suddenly his voice fell, and the anger in it had gone, and Lennier, who had begun to look up in surprise, wanted to turn away from seeing another’s pain so close. "I would have. Even when I hated you. I don’t know, if you’d told me back on the station – it’s not the way humans usually do things, but I don’t – I would have _understood_. Even Anna, when I thought she was dead, I always – and Delenn…" He wiped palmfuls of rain from his face, and shook his head, tired, shaking drops of water from his hair.  
  
The question was formed before he could think it, although it had been a long time since he needed to placate his thoughts by offering them this to ignore. "What do you want from me?"  
  
Sheridan’s fist reached out like lightning. Lennier tasted blood in his mouth, warm and bitter, and a spreading fire of pain across the right side of his face. He looked up.  
  
"Yeah," Sheridan said. "But you weren’t here six years ago."  
  


~*~

  
  
The next day, after the morning sun had burnt away last night’s rain in a lazy cloud of mist, Delenn watched her son playing. David was equally happy around both Minbari and human children (despite both her worries and John’s), but he often preferred to be by himself. At present, he was arranging a collection of tiny carved animals into herds, and speaking to them too quietly for her to hear. He could entertain himself for hours this way. She remembered little of this from her own childhood, but perhaps she had done the same.  
  
After a while, he came to her cradling a creature she did not recognise. "Where does this live?", he said as he held it out.  
  
"I am not sure." She ran a fingertip over the edges of miniature white wing feathers. "It is an Earth animal. In the sky, I imagine."  
  
"But it can’t live there _all_ the time." John’s blue eyes (although John had been against giving David these toys at first, thinking he would break them) watched her with the confidence of childhood.  
  
"In trees, then." At his pleased nod, she gave it back.  
  
"What about this one?"  
  
The second animal was the mottled blue and white of a Warrior cruiser, with intricately carved teeth sharp as needles and a long, arrowlike tail. "These," she said, "live in the sea a long way from Tuzanor. You should put it with the fish."  
  
She had a considerable amount of work to do, but time spent with David was always too little, and the pile of diplomatic travel papers she had yet to finish writing sat forgotten by her side as she watched him. She did not even notice John returning until David, hands now covered in mud from the pool he was making for his animals to drink from, waved absently at someone behind her and then turned back to his work.  
  
John smiled as he sat down behind her. "More wildlife reserves?"  
  
"He is happy." She leant against him as he curled an arm around her shoulders.  
  
"You aren’t going to ask where I’ve been?"  
  
"If you are asking me whether I believed you when you said you were attending the trade conference, then the answer is no." She twined her fingers through his without turning to look at him.  
  
"I didn’t think you would." David carried on playing, and Delenn did not dare speak or look away, wishing that she could take this moment and freeze it into the cold, sharp images of her son’s toys. But he did not stay silent for long. "What if I said you were right?", he asked her casually, as if commenting on nothing more than the weather. "What if I said Lennier was still alive, and I’d found him? What would you want me to do?"  
  
"He is alive?" She felt light-headed, suddenly, silenced by the sudden urge to laugh until she could not think.  
  
"You answer mine first."  
  
She held her voice steady as the tears began. "I don’t know," she said. "I don’t think it matters. I would never ask you to forgive him, or to speak to him if you did not wish it. I would only want to know he was safe."  
  
"That isn’t what I asked you."  
  
_I know_ , she was going to say, but her true answer was there before she could care enough to stop it. "Tell him to come back to me," she said, pressing her face into his neck so she could not see his eyes. "Tell him to come home."  
  
He kissed her forehead, gently, like sunlight.  
  
"I did," he said.  
  


~*~

  
  
"Like this." Lennier’s fingertips were already stained with ink, but he didn not seem to notice as they traced a careful arc for the pen to follow.  
  
David’s forehead creased into lines of concentration, the muscles in his left arm tightening into knots. Slowly, with only the smallest of jittery angled sidetracks, he finished the letter. "There?"  
  
"Yes." He smiled, catching the pen as David dropped it from excited hands. "And now you can write Adronato."  
  
_"Look!"_ The ink had barely dried, but David was careful not to smudge it, lifting the paper by its corners to show Delenn.  
  
"Very good." She hugged him with one arm, giving him enough room to wriggle free once the excitement of being six years old and writing your first word in a new language became too much to stand still over. "Now, show your father before he reads your story."  
  
"It’s not late yet."  
  
"It’s very late." Sheridan shushed his further protests of not being tired, and smoothed out the creases in the paper. "This is good, though. You’ll have to try writing my name tomorrow."  
  
David nodded, clearly fighting off a yawn, and didn’t protest as the paper was lifted from his hands.  
  
"You are very good with him," Delenn said when they were alone.  
  
Lennier, stacking away pens and ink, smiled without looking up at her. "I only wish we had met in better circumstances."  
  
She crossed the floor to sit by his side, taking his ink-stained hand and holding it against her face. "Yes," she said. "But I am glad you saw him then, and I am glad you are here now."  
  
This time, the smile reached his eyes.  
  
"And I am sorry." She touched her fingers to his lips at the first indications of his dismissal. "No, this needs to be said. I should not have held onto you without the rituals, and it is no excuse that I loved you too much to risk letting you go."  
  
"Maybe." His hands curled around her own. "But all this is past, now."  
  
She pulled him close, scattering pens across the untidied paper, and not caring. "Yes," she said.

**Author's Note:**

> There is/was a rumour that JMS intended Lennier to die in Crusade, in an explosion at a Psi Corps prison. So, you know, if you're writing fix-it fic for rubbish endings Lennier got in canon, may as well go the whole hog.


End file.
